I’ve been doing a lot of talking lately. To Lil Mil. To family and friends who have asked about Lil Mil. To you, through this blog. Even, in some sense, to myself, as I try to process the experience of motherhood.

I’ve also been doing a lot of listening. To Lil Mil, as a I try to discern the difference between her various moans. To friends and family, as they dispense parenting advice. To other bloggers, speaking through their blogs. To Husband, as he describes his day.

But I realized something yesterday. I realized something as I read a particularly poignant post on my favorite blog, Ivy League Insecurities (I say particularly poignant because nearly all of Aidan’s posts are poignant. Honest, impeccably written, and arrestingly poignant). I realized that I have not had a conversation – a real conversation – in a long time. Too long.

(Sidebar: I just noticed that Aidan’s post for today is about the very conversation that prompted this post. A talking-really-talking kind of conversation. So when you’re done here, go read that).

So anyway, there I was, racking my brain, combing through the days and the countless interactions since Lil Mil’s birth, trying to come up with one real, meaningful, talking-really-talking conversation.

And I came up with one. One. In 30+ days. A period of time in which I have seen more people – talked and listened to more people – than I usually do in twice as long. And yet.

One.**

It was a couple days after Lil Mil was born. One of the rainiest. A close friend stopped by to see me and the baby. We sat on the couch. She held Lil Mil. And we talked. Really talked. It wasn’t a pour-your-guts-out kind of conversation. It wasn’t exceptionally deep. But it was real. Conversations with this friend usually are.

Thirty days. One real conversation.

Not that the other interactions and exchanges that I’ve had in the past month have been meaningless or superficial. Not at all. Much of what I’ve heard has been incredibly meaningful. And I hope that at least some of what I’ve said has been, too. It’s just that there’s been a disconnect between the talking and the listening. It hasn’t been an even exchange.

In most cases, I’ve been the conversation dominator. Not intentionally, but perhaps unavoidably. I have a new baby. I’m a first-time mom. Inevitably, people are full of questions and suggestions and advice. So they ask. I answer. They listen and advise. There’s generally a lot of smiling and some sympathetic nods. We feel as though we are communicating, and to some extent we are. But not as deeply as we could be. We’re too programmed, I think, to revert to our respective roles. Friend and friend with new baby. Mother and daughter. Husband and wife. We say what we are supposed to say and nothing more, maybe because we are trying to convince ourselves that we feel exactly what we are supposed to feel.

Conversations with friends who don’t have children are the hardest, because they seem the most determined to keep the conversation focused on me. After all, I’m the one living in Life with a Newborn. I’m the one experiencing the big Life Change. My questions about their lives are brushed aside as they ask the predictable, expected questions about mine. Are you getting any sleep? What’s it like being a mom? How’s Husband doing? Can you believe you have a baby?

The funny thing about these questions is that they’re actually quite loaded. My real answers would probably transport us from not-really-talking to talking-really-talking. But then again, it’d still be one-sided. The conversation would still be uneven. I’d walk away feeling heard and understood and they wouldn’t.

So what’s the remedy? How do we change the ratio of real to something-less-than? And is that what we really want?

Or are meaningful conversations just too burdensome, too time and energy intensive? Do they demand too much of us for everyday life? Is it unrealistic to think that we could talk and listen and hear and be heard on a regular basis?

Maybe. Probably.

Because, let’s be honest – there are times when a real conversation is the last thing we want. Moments when we’d prefer not to acknowledge What Is, when we’d prefer to Act As If instead.

But.

We need the real. We need the deep. We need the meaningful. Maybe not all the time. But sometimes. We need to know and be known. To understand and be understood.

At least, I do. That’s why I started this project. Yes, I wanted to finish my novel, and I liked the challenge of doing it publicly. But the real reason? I was afraid. I was afraid that motherhood would take something from me. That this detour would take me somewhere I didn’t want to go, and that I wouldn’t be able to find my way back.

I was afraid that I would get lost.

This blog, then, was supposed to be my map. My posts were supposed to be my breadcrumbs, leading the way back to who I had been. Your comments were supposed to be my guardrails. This was how I was going to find my way back if I needed to, if my attempt to embrace this detour didn’t go as planned, if I one day woke up somewhere I didn’t want to be. Someone I didn’t want to be.

I knew that writing by itself wouldn’t be enough. I knew that in order to truly embrace this detour, I needed travel companions. Voices in my head other than my own. This blog, then, was supposed to be a talking-really-talking conversation, a place where I would force myself to be real and honest and raw among strangers (who I hoped would cease to be strangers) in an effort to preserve the me-ness of me.

I have no idea if that will make sense to you. It makes sense to me.

This blog was supposed to be a conversation. But I have been doing all the talking. This blog was supposed to be a conversation. It has become a monologue.

It’s my fault. I have not facilitated an even exchange. I have asked for feedback, but narrowly. I have fished for certain responses. I have invited limited suggestions, welcomed particular advice. And because of that, this conversation has become one-sided. Which means that it’s not really a conversation. It’s something less-than.

I want that to change. I want to know about your lives and your journeys. I want to ask instead of just tell. I want to hear from you. I want to know you.

Oh! And a brief addendum. Last night, after my big I-have-only-had-one-real-conversation-in-the-last-month realization, a friend stopped by to visit. She was on her way somewhere and could only stay a few minutes, so our conversation was brief. It was brief, but it was real.

Real conversations: 1 Something-less-than: 0. I’m off to a good start.

Maybe it’s easier than we think.

(How many real conversations have you had in the last month? Are there certain people with whom it’s easier for you to have real conversations? When was the last time you felt truly “heard”? Do you think blogs count as a real conversations? Do you like questions at the bottom of blog posts or do you find them annoying?)

** Not including conversations with Sister. Conversations with Sister are always talking-really-talking conversations. Conversations with Sister don’t count.

12 Comments

I remember the days when my only little one was young. Nine months after she was born and I decided to give up my job as a lawyer to have more conversations with my newborn. It was a difficult transition, a day filled with “adult” conversation to doing baby speak all day. As far as any true, real conversations with an adult, I can name some conversations with the Husband, but none that I can think of with another adult (at least in the first year). I think that is one of those rite of passages when you decide to become a full-time mother. You do get those conversations back, but you have to wait.

Thanks for sharing your journey with us and I look forward to your future posts.

Another refugee from the law! Glad you found me. Your comment made me realize that my post focused only on adult conversations, completely overlooking the fact that yes, I am having conversations with Lil Mil every day. Different, of course – so different – than the conversations I’m used to. The conversations I can’t help but crave. And yet, my conversations with my daughter are soul-satisfying in their own way. Which means that while I long for adult conversation, I don’t feel as lonely as perhaps I would if I didn’t have Lil Mil to talk to every day. So, yes, maybe this detour requires the sacrifice of some of those adult conversations. I’ve gained a new kind of conversation. AND – best of all – a new little person to have that conversation with. Good stuff.

Okay, so I’m still a newbie at this journey too (well 28 months in), but I think that somehow it is inevitable that the pre-baby you will change and change significantly. The most stunning discovery I’ve made is that the “old me” and the typical “mom me” have merged; it is as if old me and child-centered me became a “new me,” one component not more important than the other, but both co-existing with balance. It will get easier to see the old you. She won’t be lost forever. You’re just still in what I call “survival” mode-hahaha–for a while. Pregnancy and caring for an infant were the MOST self-reflecting times of my entire life. I found that it was an oportunity of sorts, an opportunity to change parts of “old me” that were in need of change. The infant in the carrier was my excuse. I could use her to say “no” to things I needed to let go of anyway. I could use her as an excuse, and I embraced it.

Thanks for the e-mail. Things got worse before they got better. I hope to blog about it soon, but the short story is that we ended up putting my little one in the hospital for a few days. Now that we’re home, when I should be sleeping, I’m taking care of me–the newly merged me–and reading blogs!

Nicole! As far as embracing the detour of motherhood goes, it sounds like you’re doing a pretty awesome job. Changing self and preserving self at the same time. Letting your identity evolve. Merging the two parts of yourself, finding balance. I love this! I struggled with how my identity would change when I became a mother, and yet I’ve found that my new (mom) self has blended pretty seamlessly with my old self. Although you’re right – there is definitely a survival mode element right now. Thanks for your comment!

So glad to hear that you’re home and better! Take good care of your newly merged self and your little peanut.

DeAnna

Friday, 19 February, 2010 at 15:51

Lauren:

Many of just smile as we read your comments about the new journey to motherhood. For we know….we have felt the same…..the unbelievable lack of time in general, much less for yourself or boy….or even a shower. You absolutely DO lose part of yourself to the new priorities in life, but I think it’s amazing that you attempt to write AND blog and get out amongst people in such an early stage in the journey.

When my oldest was born we had NO family in our state, and anyone I knew was at work all day. I remember waking at 5:00 a.m. and thinking “what in the world are me and baby going to do for the next 15-16 hours?”

Hang tight for it DOES get better and you will sleep again, you will have a life, and yes…..you might even get a date with boy….and hopefully not feel guilty for taking those few hours for yourself.

DeAnna, Thanks for your comment, and for sharing a glimpse of your experience in Life with a Newborn. Your words resonate with my own experience. With no family nearby (mine lives across the country), a husband that works long hours, and friends and co-workers who are busy with their “regular” lives, it’s easy to feel isolated. That is, until I log on and start “talking” with all of you. So glad you found me! Thanks again for joining the conversation.

This is a great question. I recall the isolation of being a new mother. I recall being so baby-centered that every single thing I said was all about him (or her). But my babies are now 9 (tomorrow) and 12 (next month). But funny how the conversation is still about them. I have had some wonder-filled talking-real-talking conversations with my husband of late. That seems so refreshing. It needs to happen more. And there are friends with whom I really have an easier time with. I have been part of a Mastermind group for about 1 1/2 years and those people I do have real conversations with all the time. This reminds me that I must contact my friend J and take her out for coffee and a real conversation. Most of my talking-real-talking conversations are in emails and with blog comments. But you see that I am not content to just say ‘hey, nice post!’ and move on. I am a bit wordy like that. I appreciate the reminder of what I might be missing. Thank you for that. Blessings to you and Lil Mil and your entire family. Enjoy the day! Erin

I’m glad you’re not content to just say “nice post” and move on! Also glad you and your husband have had some meaty conversations recently. Those can be so refreshing, I know. So satisfying. Very curious about your Mastermind group … I don’t think I know what that is! More details, please!

Lauren – I’ve just spent the past 10-ish minutes cruising your blog (referred by Aidan) and I’m afraid I may be hooked! I will have to go back and play catch-up on your earlier posts to find out how the novel project is coming along.

In the meantime I will say, welcome to motherhood. You are brave (and a little crazy) to take on a novel during maternity leave. But with the incentive of ditching a legal career on the table I’m sure you are quite motivated to succeed.

So this is kind of a side note, but as a person without children I really do want to know your REAL answers to those inane questions. And I will be happy to listen. I will also be happy to talk about my life and non-children things but I need a signal. It sounds like you are giving those off, but I think both people in the conversation worry about talking too much and isolating the other and instead circle each other in a vanilla swirl of platitudes and never have that real conversation.

Personally, I’d love to have “real” conversations with most people I talk to on a daily basis, but there are some people that are too busy to talk (or listen), and there are some people that are not interested in this sort of thing.

I am grateful, though, to have quite a few people in my life who I have real conversations with. We can sit down and talk about nothing (but still talking about something), and sometimes we talk about really heavy things. We don’t just listen. We ask questions. We repeat what the person has said to make sure we understand each other.

One of my best friends has this insane ability to be one of the best conversationalists I know. I am so glad to have her in my life. As well as my Mom. She’s great, too.